Ficlet: The True Epitome of Evil - Brood X
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- Lubber
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Ficlet: The True Epitome of Evil - Brood X
Summer, 2004
*BAMF*
*plop*
Kurt sighed as thick mud slid from his leather uniform pants to pool clumpily around his bare feet. He shook the wet leaves from his hair and set his laptop case on the toilet seat, its waterproof bag completely caked in black mud (at least he hoped it was mud).
That reeked.
Of things Logan refused to identify.
He had dragged Kurt off on another one of his "C'mon, Elf. I'll tell ya when we get there." Mystery Missions.
Mystery Mission was completed (and he still didn't know exactly why all those people in fur man-kini's had been shooting sludge-bombs at them.)
He'd been captured twice and he thought he might have come perilously close to either A) being mistaken for some god called 'OoGaopani' or B) being sacrificed to some god called 'OoGaopani'. Either way, it involved body-paint, a gift of a dozen nubile maidens, and several melons.
Actual melons, unrelated to the nubile maidens.
But he was home now, after a side-trek through Central Park to capture an errant man-kini who'd found his way to New York after a magical faux pas. Which was entirely NOT his fault. Logan was the one who shoved the banana leaf into his hands and told him to read the syllables.
But, Huzzah! Home.
Sweet, sweet furkini-less home.
He unstrapped his sword scabbards and leaned them against the wall, frowning as the brackish "mud" dripped from them as well.
Ugh.
Stripping off his filthy trench-coat, Kurt eyed the shower appraisingly. He thought he could shower without clogging the drain...maybe.
Hopefully.
Forty-five minutes later, Kurt had managed to scrub his fur clean of about five acres of top soil and the sticky juice of at least seventeen exotic melons, and was clean and dressed in a tank top and pajama pants -- nice black silky ones that reminded him that his bed was right over there.
But it was only three o'clock in the afternoon, so bed would have to wait.
He was about to settle down with a beer to check his email before heading down to con someone into going on a run to Subway when he heard it.
Buzzing.
Coming from his bathroom. He knew that sound. It had haunted his dreams, made him quake with unreasonable dread ever since the summer began, and had reminded him that evil did exist in its purest, most unholy form.
He had to act.
And running away screaming to Katzchen would -- besides being the utmost in cowardice -- leave It alone in his room.
Nightcrawler held his breath as he crept toward the bathroom, peering around the door frame, ready to flee at a moment's notice. His tail peeked fearfully over his shoulder.
Verflucht noch mal! There It was. Sitting on his discarded muddy trench coat laying in a gloppy pile on the floor.
A cicada.
Nightcrawler managed to not scream like a girl.
How? How did it get inside?
Oh, Gott! It must have Been. On. Him.
When he 'ported in!
He could feel his fur stand on end with the horror.
Kurt stared at the horrible thing, its red eyes gleaming with the infernal evil of a thousand Hells. Its malevolent buzz an abomination from the pit of Hades itself. He had to do something! It could take flight and...and ...it could get in his hair.
Oh, Gott and only madness could follow. He had to get it out of his room or he'd never sleep again.
Had to ...do something...NOW!
Nightcrawler sprung.
Twenty-five minutes later, after several panic based 'ports, shrieking profanity in assorted languages, nine Hail Mary's, one broken lamp, and the sacrifice of two paperback books....The Cursed Thing had been captured in a coffee cup with a magazine as a cover -- the whole demonic prison 'ported and dropped over the woods.
Kurt, his room cleared of sinister insectoid invaders and now too traumatized (and lazy) to beg passer-by's for a Subway run -- he couldn't eat after that -- 'ported to the kitchen to hunt for alcohol.
And to think of a really good reason why he'd be crawling into bed with Kitty (or Bobby or Ororo or Scott) with a bottle of Captain Morgen.
He'd think of something.
Blasted Brood X.
*Brood X is the cicada brood that swarmed then North-East, from New York down to Ohio
[Edited on 12/29/2007 by fuzzybluelogic]
*BAMF*
*plop*
Kurt sighed as thick mud slid from his leather uniform pants to pool clumpily around his bare feet. He shook the wet leaves from his hair and set his laptop case on the toilet seat, its waterproof bag completely caked in black mud (at least he hoped it was mud).
That reeked.
Of things Logan refused to identify.
He had dragged Kurt off on another one of his "C'mon, Elf. I'll tell ya when we get there." Mystery Missions.
Mystery Mission was completed (and he still didn't know exactly why all those people in fur man-kini's had been shooting sludge-bombs at them.)
He'd been captured twice and he thought he might have come perilously close to either A) being mistaken for some god called 'OoGaopani' or B) being sacrificed to some god called 'OoGaopani'. Either way, it involved body-paint, a gift of a dozen nubile maidens, and several melons.
Actual melons, unrelated to the nubile maidens.
But he was home now, after a side-trek through Central Park to capture an errant man-kini who'd found his way to New York after a magical faux pas. Which was entirely NOT his fault. Logan was the one who shoved the banana leaf into his hands and told him to read the syllables.
But, Huzzah! Home.
Sweet, sweet furkini-less home.
He unstrapped his sword scabbards and leaned them against the wall, frowning as the brackish "mud" dripped from them as well.
Ugh.
Stripping off his filthy trench-coat, Kurt eyed the shower appraisingly. He thought he could shower without clogging the drain...maybe.
Hopefully.
Forty-five minutes later, Kurt had managed to scrub his fur clean of about five acres of top soil and the sticky juice of at least seventeen exotic melons, and was clean and dressed in a tank top and pajama pants -- nice black silky ones that reminded him that his bed was right over there.
But it was only three o'clock in the afternoon, so bed would have to wait.
He was about to settle down with a beer to check his email before heading down to con someone into going on a run to Subway when he heard it.
Buzzing.
Coming from his bathroom. He knew that sound. It had haunted his dreams, made him quake with unreasonable dread ever since the summer began, and had reminded him that evil did exist in its purest, most unholy form.
He had to act.
And running away screaming to Katzchen would -- besides being the utmost in cowardice -- leave It alone in his room.
Nightcrawler held his breath as he crept toward the bathroom, peering around the door frame, ready to flee at a moment's notice. His tail peeked fearfully over his shoulder.
Verflucht noch mal! There It was. Sitting on his discarded muddy trench coat laying in a gloppy pile on the floor.
A cicada.
Nightcrawler managed to not scream like a girl.
How? How did it get inside?
Oh, Gott! It must have Been. On. Him.
When he 'ported in!
He could feel his fur stand on end with the horror.
Kurt stared at the horrible thing, its red eyes gleaming with the infernal evil of a thousand Hells. Its malevolent buzz an abomination from the pit of Hades itself. He had to do something! It could take flight and...and ...it could get in his hair.
Oh, Gott and only madness could follow. He had to get it out of his room or he'd never sleep again.
Had to ...do something...NOW!
Nightcrawler sprung.
Twenty-five minutes later, after several panic based 'ports, shrieking profanity in assorted languages, nine Hail Mary's, one broken lamp, and the sacrifice of two paperback books....The Cursed Thing had been captured in a coffee cup with a magazine as a cover -- the whole demonic prison 'ported and dropped over the woods.
Kurt, his room cleared of sinister insectoid invaders and now too traumatized (and lazy) to beg passer-by's for a Subway run -- he couldn't eat after that -- 'ported to the kitchen to hunt for alcohol.
And to think of a really good reason why he'd be crawling into bed with Kitty (or Bobby or Ororo or Scott) with a bottle of Captain Morgen.
He'd think of something.
Blasted Brood X.
*Brood X is the cicada brood that swarmed then North-East, from New York down to Ohio
[Edited on 12/29/2007 by fuzzybluelogic]
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- Deck Swabber
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Ficlet: The True Epitome of Evil - Brood X
OMGROFLMAO!!!
I love your hilarious, panicky Kurt. He's undoubtedly the epitome of cute. "Nine hail mary's," LOL! So great. >3 So many lines I loved. I hope you write more minifics like this!
I love your hilarious, panicky Kurt. He's undoubtedly the epitome of cute. "Nine hail mary's," LOL! So great. >3 So many lines I loved. I hope you write more minifics like this!
Steyn: Oh sweety, no, the elvis boys are across the street at the wolverine forum
Tessa: LMAO
Steyn: here we do Paul Young
Tessa: LMAO
Steyn: here we do Paul Young
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- Administrator
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Ficlet: The True Epitome of Evil - Brood X
This was delightfully amusing. I'm a big fan of humor. Awesome job!
Paws
Paws
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- Lubber
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Ficlet: The True Epitome of Evil - Brood X
Thank you, thank you...
I needed a humor break from all the angstiness in my other fics.
I needed a humor break from all the angstiness in my other fics.
Ficlet: The True Epitome of Evil - Brood X
Geez, that was great.
I loved how freaked Kurt was, cicadas are nasty little things. Excelent job!
I loved how freaked Kurt was, cicadas are nasty little things. Excelent job!
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- Deck Swabber
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Ficlet: The True Epitome of Evil - Brood X
I remember being in New Jersey in the spring, and the ground was positively covered with cicada carcasses. I couldn't walk a step without crunching some shed cicada skin. It was so ewww!Originally posted by Trigger
I loved how freaked Kurt was, cicadas are nasty little things. Excelent job!
I'm totally with Kurt.
Steyn: Oh sweety, no, the elvis boys are across the street at the wolverine forum
Tessa: LMAO
Steyn: here we do Paul Young
Tessa: LMAO
Steyn: here we do Paul Young
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- Deck Swabber
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Ficlet: The True Epitome of Evil - Brood X
Omg, Roflmao. That was soooooo great. I completely understand the fear of cicadas. They scare the daylights out of me. Seriously, I had one on me at Halloween and I couldn't get it off without touching it. Off went the shirt, pdq.
Neither Love nor Evil conquers all, but Evil cheats more.
Important Lessons Learned from the X-Men: Never give indestructible metal claws to something that doesn't die when you shoot it in the head.
Important Lessons Learned from the X-Men: Never give indestructible metal claws to something that doesn't die when you shoot it in the head.
- german_gremlin
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Ficlet: The True Epitome of Evil - Brood X
That was hilarious!! Come on...we would all react the same way!:*D
"Hand over your beautiful venches, Captain Eagle...or face the wrath of the Dread Pirate Bluetail!"
Nightcrawler: "...I'm fine ...why are the gypsies dancing the lambada --?" #UXM 366
Nightcrawler: "...I'm fine ...why are the gypsies dancing the lambada --?" #UXM 366
Ficlet: The True Epitome of Evil - Brood X
Oh, that fic was made of win. some of my fav. lines...
1. He'd been captured twice and he thought he might have come perilously close to either A) being mistaken for some god called 'OoGaopani' or B) being sacrificed to some god called 'OoGaopani'. Either way, it involved body-paint, a gift of a dozen nubile maidens, and several melons.
Actual melons, unrelated to the nubile maidens.
2. Sweet, sweet furkini-less home.
3. His tail peeked fearfully over his shoulder. (I think the mental picture is too cute)
4. Nightcrawler managed to not scream like a girl. (Again, so cute)
5. Twenty-five minutes later, after several panic based 'ports, shrieking profanity in assorted languages, nine Hail Mary's, one broken lamp, and the sacrifice of two paperback books....The Cursed Thing had been captured in a coffee cup with a magazine as a cover -- the whole demonic prison 'ported and dropped over the woods.
1. He'd been captured twice and he thought he might have come perilously close to either A) being mistaken for some god called 'OoGaopani' or B) being sacrificed to some god called 'OoGaopani'. Either way, it involved body-paint, a gift of a dozen nubile maidens, and several melons.
Actual melons, unrelated to the nubile maidens.
2. Sweet, sweet furkini-less home.
3. His tail peeked fearfully over his shoulder. (I think the mental picture is too cute)
4. Nightcrawler managed to not scream like a girl. (Again, so cute)
5. Twenty-five minutes later, after several panic based 'ports, shrieking profanity in assorted languages, nine Hail Mary's, one broken lamp, and the sacrifice of two paperback books....The Cursed Thing had been captured in a coffee cup with a magazine as a cover -- the whole demonic prison 'ported and dropped over the woods.
I wish I was a glow worm, a glow worm is never glum. Cause how can you be grumpy when the sun shines out your bum!
- german_gremlin
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Ficlet: The True Epitome of Evil - Brood X
"Hand over your beautiful venches, Captain Eagle...or face the wrath of the Dread Pirate Bluetail!"
Nightcrawler: "...I'm fine ...why are the gypsies dancing the lambada --?" #UXM 366
Nightcrawler: "...I'm fine ...why are the gypsies dancing the lambada --?" #UXM 366
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- Bilge Rat
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Ficlet: The True Epitome of Evil - Brood X
I'm lucky there are people like you in the world. I couldn't do funny to save my life.
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- Swashbuckler
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Ficlet: The True Epitome of Evil - Brood X
My favourite line.Originally posted by fuzzybluelogic
He had to do something! It could take flight and...and ...it could get in his hair.
Und die Sonne spricht zu mir
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- Bilge Rat
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Ficlet: The True Epitome of Evil - Brood X
Sorry, had to read a second time. To funny!